The Lady In Red
by TolkienScribe
Summary: During the War of the Ring, the Swan Knights are called to Minas Tirith for aid. The ladies Ivriniel and Lothíriel, reagents on the behalf of Prince Imrahil behind in Dol Amroth to face the wrath of the Enemy that began to wage war along its shores.
**The Lady in Red**

 **Summary:** During the War of the Ring, the Swan Knights are called to Minas Tirith for aid. The ladies Ivriniel and Lothíriel, reagents on the behalf of Prince Imrahil behind in Dol Amroth to face the wrath of the Enemy that began to wage war along its shores.

 **Disclaimer:** Do not own.

Rating is for situation of war, which is not for the faint of heart.

The idea is adopted and adapted from Certh, who offered the idea of a story about Ivriniel as a main character rather than as a side character.

Enjoy!

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 _"You do not need to wield a sword to show your strength over a man."_

-Lady Ivriniel, from her memoirs.

 **Prologue:**

"Must they leave?" Her maid asked her. Out of the corner of her eye, Ivriniel saw her sniffle and dab her eyes with her handkerchief. She turned her attention back to the ranks of Swan Knights standing at the courtyard, waiting for her brother. The wind blew inwards from the Sea. She held the curtains in both her fists to keep them from blowing on her face. There was a coming storm in the air; she nearly tasted it.

"They must do their duty as we must do ours," Ivriniel answered. The standards of her brother, her own and that of Dol Amroth blew in the wind.

"These are dark times if we need to bid our men farewell, my lady." Her maid sniffles again. Adelaide was normally a sensible girl, in spite of her seventeen summers. But she was emotional. Ivriniel, on the other hand, didn't feel a thing, except her undeniable sense of duty.

"Dark times, indeed." She agreed. The wind grew and churned around the palace, picking up the standards in its wake. "But we live in this world, and we need to make our decisions according to it." Adelaide didn't answer. Instead, she placed her handkerchief over her nose and blew dolefully. There was a short knock on the door of her chambers and Adelaide went to answer it. She returned, twisting her handkerchief in her hands.

"That was Lord Argon's manservant, my lady," Ivriniel's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her husband. "He wishes to meet you." Ivriniel was already making her way to the door. She tugged on her sleeves to straighten the creases and ran her hands once over her hair as she did.

"Good. I will see him now." Ivriniel said. Adelaide nodded and stayed behind, already aware husband and wife needed some time alone.

The door to her husband's chambers was unlocked and slightly ajar. She entered without knocking. Her husband stood with his back towards her. His helmet with white plume on its top rested on a table nearby. He was adjusting his sword on his belt when she entered. As if sensing he wasn't alone, he peered over his shoulder and smiled suddenly when he saw her.

Tall, dark and handsome, Ivriniel thought with a rueful smile. She was clearly ageing with her fresh wrinkles that magically appeared with each passing year, and her husband successfully hid his wrinkles under a beard. She was jealous, partly for his seemingly youthful face and the fact that he looked so handsome that maids turned to look at him twice. She knew his eyes were only on her always, but that didn't lessen her fear sometimes. True, he was neither a descendant of Númenóreans nor a descendent of Elves like she was. Still, his hair and beard remained pitch black and his lithe form was just as muscled as before.

"The armour fits," she teased him dryly. He grunted in response.

"I didn't take as many second servings as you accuse me of, my love." He protested in his usual soft tone. He possessed a quiet sort of strength, where he himself judged a man from his silence. She looked up at her lord husband and felt a wave of fresh fear. It was possible that she was seeing him for the last time. Could she handle the pain of separation? Could she handle the grief if he passed? He wasn't as young as he once was. Age will surely affect him on the battlefield.

As if he sensed her thoughts, his face softened. The lines of stress on his face disappeared. He smiled tenderly down at her and tucked her stray hair behind her face.

"Wife," he called her.

"Husband," she returned. He was still smiling.

"Is it possible that my beloved is worried about my safety?" His hand was warm against the side of her face. Or maybe her face was warm. She wasn't sure.

"You hold yourself in high regard if you think that I am worried about you when you marching straight into battle!" She retorted. Too sharp, Ivriniel thought in dismay. Her jest was too sharp. He laughed instead, untroubled.

"You do care," he crooned. He caught her in his arms and hugged her tightly. Ivriniel eagerly rested her head against his chest and comforted herself when she heard the steady thrumming of his heart. The armour was still too cold for her though. "You are only this snappish as a wasp when you are upset."

Ivriniel didn't try to meet the teasing with another retort. Instead, she sighed and kept her head on his chest. He stroked her hair with his fingers, in no hurry.

"Come back to me," she murmured to him.

"I intend to." He promised. "But first, say my name."

Ivriniel pulled back to glare at him. At least, she tried to pull back but his arms kept her imprisoned. He looked down with a roguish grin, the kind that he used when they met for the first time, when he was only a captain of Swan Knights and a lesser son of a minor noble. He was casual at court, uncaring if his clothes didn't follow the latest fashion or any other etiquette of a noble. Ivriniel was his opposite. She wasn't a prude when it came to rules either (or else she would never have married him!) but she was more adherent than he. And that meant she often referred to him as "lord husband" than with his given name.

It was a miracle her father let him marry her.

He was still grinning when Ivriniel threw back her head and raised her chin in defiance. "If you truly need me to call your given name then you must come back to me safe and unharmed, husband." Argon chuckled and inclined his head.

"I will hold you to that promise, my wife." Argon glanced over the top of her head, at the door of his bedchamber. It was still gaping widely; Ivriniel forgot to close it behind her.

"What of Adelaide? Is she troubled?"

"The poor girl is from the mountains and her family are nothing but goat herders and yet her family's men March for war." Ivriniel said. "She is nearly hysterical but I will not blame her for it." Argon hummed in assent.

"Then it is good that you are with her. Be sure not to fracture under the weight of princedom, my dear."

"I am not easily breakable." She declared. Her husband smiled at that. He hesitated before giving her a brief kiss.

"So fierce and strong," he murmured to her. He rested his forehead against hers. Ivriniel closed her eyes and savoured the moment. "Don't ever change or bend your will to others."

"You know those who try will be broken instead," she quipped. He threw back his head and laughed heartily. This time when he stopped, he pressed a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes briefly fluttered close in reply. So many words were left unsaid. Their entire marriage was a good one; she didn't regret any part of it. But she was at a loss where to begin. It was a blessing that Argon understood her without her saying anything. He simply kissed her again and in a short murmured farewell, he turned to leave. Ivriniel was frozen in place. It was only when he took one step out the doorway did she find her voice again.

"Argon!" Ivriniel called him. Argon halted, the crest of Dol Amroth glistening on his broad cloak and looked back with a tender smile.

"Don't break." He repeated. Ivriniel's voice caught in her throat until she managed the words through.

"I won't." She promised. Argon dipped his head and when she blinked, he was gone. Ivriniel stared at the open doorway until she was aware of her quick breathing. She calmed herself before briskly joining Adelaide outside. Her maid was still wringing her handkerchief nervously.

"Prince Imrahil," Ivriniel said.

"In the war room, my lady," Adelaide answered her immediately. It was not far; she only needed to go downstairs and take a left. So she did and found the door carelessly swinging back and forth. The windows of the war room were thrown wide open. It was dimly lit from sunlight and nothing else. Chairs were still drawn back and untidy. The chart of Middle Earth pasted on top of the table was littered with miniatures of armies, ships and carts for resources. Imrahil sat with his back to the door, one leg bouncing while he was deep in thought. Ivriniel approached him quietly.

Her poor brother; he looked as if he aged numerous times over every time the sun rose. The War wasn't kind on him, and his worry robbed him of enough nights to ruin his sleep for a good while. He sat with his back unconsciously slumped forward. His arms lay uselessly over his armrests. Imrahil was dressed in his full armour, with his blue cloak draped over the back of his chair and his helmet resting on the table right in front him. His shoulder-length hair was firmly pulled back in a leather band and his wrinkles over his lips and eyes stood out starkly in his weariness.

"You should have slept." Ivriniel said disapprovingly. Her hands were clasped ladylike in front of her and her lips were pressed in a straight tight line.

"I couldn't." Imrahil answered with a weary shake of his head. Ivriniel reached him and placed one arm over the back of his chair. "The men from Dol Amroth are so little that they will barely penetrate the first ranks of the Enemy."

"You mustn't think like that." Ivriniel comforted him. "Gondor will see this through like it always has before." Imrahil snorted.

"If you speak of Dagorlad, then it was purely luck that managed us free from the Dark Lord the first time. It will be a fool or a drunkard who will expect the same thing to happen twice."

"Anything can happen to turn the tables in our favour." Ivriniel argued. She bent lightly and placed one hand over his bouncing leg. Imrahil blinked in surprise before looking down at his leg, with her hand still resting on his knee. Evidently he was not aware of it.

"You have too much hope." Imrahil muttered. Ivriniel released him. The leg did not move again.

"And you have too little." Ivriniel said sternly. Imrahil smiled up to her.

"I never fully expressed my gratitude, Ivriniel. You held this household together after my wife's death," Imrahil said. "You have a great hand in the upbringing of my children. I thank you for it, sister."

It sounded more like a farewell. Ivriniel placed one hand on her brother's shoulder and scoffed.

"You never needed to thank me!" She softened. "It was a privilege. They were like my children. I would not have done anything otherwise." She halted. "Take care of each other," Ivriniel said to him. Imrahil nodded, catching the veiled worry about her husband. Imrahil hesitated before speaking.

"We will do what we can to return home safe, Ivriniel, but you must know, people will die. Me, my sons, your husband or your sons are just as at risk as the rest of men standing in wait outside." Ivriniel swallowed and nodded. She ducked her head for a brief moment before looking up.

"Where is Lothíriel? Has she said her farewell to you?" Ivriniel asked him. Imrahil shook his head.

"I do not know where she is. But yes, she came by earlier." Imrahil pulled Ivriniel into a hug. "Take care of her," Imrahil whispered in her ear.

"I will." She whispered back. Imrahil pulled back and patted her cheek.

"Amrothos is with the armada, with his own army of men." Imrahil said.

"If I hear from him, should I have him join you?" Ivriniel asked. Imrahil paused and shook his head.

"If he and his men are needed here, then he must stay and protect Dol Amroth. If Gondor falls," Imrahil stopped, inhaled and continued with a stronger voice. "If Gondor falls… then you must have men to protect the women and children. The armada is all that is left, then."

"Do you really think that is what will happen?"

Imrahil glanced at her but didn't answer. Ivriniel impatiently shook her head.

"Oh, for the sake of us all, Imrahil, speak! I am not one to wither as soon as the wind blows a chill!"

"Yes, sister," Imrahil's answer was quiet but immediate. "I am afraid it will truly come to that." Ivriniel nodded slowly, his words sinking in. Strange, how she felt worry and fear and then felt nothing at all until both those emotions returned again. She felt like the sea lived inside her; calm one moment and a storm the next.

"Can we hold our position here in Dol Amroth?" Ivriniel asked. Imrahil tilted back his head until it was only propped against the back of his chair. His expression was thoughtful.

"I suspect you can." He said at last. "You have food aplenty to last you through two seasons, at least, and longer if you ration them. The city's walls are built high and strong but if they aren't enough, then you can pull the people into the palace walls and fortify them. There are traps aplenty and the hidden corridors are a maze." Ivriniel smiled grimly when she heard the word 'traps'. They were Amrothos' inventions, with the help of her own two sons. She knew how deadly they were. "I am sure you can, actually. But that is only the last line of defence. You still have your armada."

"I know nothing of warfare, Imrahil," Ivriniel said wryly. "You will leave your fleet in the hands of an inept commander."

"True, but you are intelligent and you think in a crisis without panicking." Imrahil answered. "And you won't be alone. The Royal Guard will remain and they will help you. You won't be left defenceless."

"Good. I intend to put up a fight if they ever try to come to me." Ivriniel paused.

"Forgive me if I do not see you off, brother." Imrahil nodded immediately in understanding. He knew she hated watching anyone from her family leave on a dangerous mission. Like Argon, he kept his farewell short and brief before leaving her alone in the war room. She was not sure how long she stood there, watching the empty doorway until Adelaide appeared, still looking anxious.

"Calm down, Adelaide," Ivriniel ordered curtly. "The Enemy is not here, knocking on our front door and there is no reason to act like it. Come, I must see where my niece has run off to." Knowing Lothíriel, she usually fled to the library or to the gallery when she was upset, but these were unusual circumstances. She was likely to be found in her own rooms.

Most of the palace corridors opened in free air, with numerous arches. Waterproof curtains were rolled up to the ceiling during a sunny day, but at the moment the servants were struggling to pull them down. Ivriniel looked up at the sky and saw the clouds were in turmoil. They were black, speckled with grey and she caught a glimpse of lightning rising deep in its belly. The sea matched the sky's mood, churning restlessly in anticipation. The wind was fierce, and it gripped Ivriniel's hair and tugged the shorter strands free from her pins. Ivriniel ducked her head and hurried through the corridor.

She came upon her niece's chambers as soon as she stepped into the safety of the closed palace walls again. Lothíriel always preferred this wing of the palace because it overlooked the sea and the marketplace at a nearby distance. Ivriniel stopped by her door and rapped loudly with her knuckles on the polished door.

"Lothíriel?" Ivriniel called her niece through the closed door. She heard nothing. The corridor grew steadily darker as the storm approached. She tried the door and found it unlocked. She dismissed her maid with a wave of her hand and entered.

The room was cast in dim light of what little sunlight escaped the clouded sky. The air inside was moist and dank. Ivriniel hurried to the open windows and struggled to pull down the window-glass.

"You will catch your cold, child!" She scolded Lothíriel, even if she was not sure where the girl was sitting. Her eyes weren't the same as they once were, given her love to read books in candlelight. Once she pulled down the window-glass on both windows of the room, she searched for her niece. Lothíriel sat on a large cushioned chair by the bookshelf. She shared Ivriniel's love for books, although she was kinder to her eyes. She didn't give any indication that she heard her aunt. Instead, she sat with her arms and legs crossed in the most unladylike fashion, still dressed in her daily light cotton dress she wore informally. Her black hair was unbound and it cascaded behind her in black waterfall. If Lothíriel was vain about anything, it was her flawless skin and her black hair. If she was dismal about any part of appearance, it was her hands and her button of a nose. But the girl had a good heart. She resembled Ivriniel so strongly that they could have been mother and daughter instead of aunt and niece. After Lothiriel's mother passed, Ivriniel took it upon herself to look after her.

"You are not the kind of damsel to wallow in grief and sorrow, Lothíriel." Ivriniel said briskly. She marched up to her and sat on the armrest of Lothíriel's chair. "I will not have you create such drama." Regardless, Ivriniel placed both her hands on her shoulders and squeezed them in comfort.

"They are all I have, aunt." Lothíriel whispered. Ivriniel pitied her a bit. Lothíriel was the only woman in a family of men. Her father and brothers empowered her and offered her strength to stand independently. She loved them fiercely for what they did. Now that all four of them, her father and three brothers, marched for war, Lothíriel was left alone.

"Not all," Ivriniel corrected. "You have me."

Lothíriel looked up and smiled at her. She placed one white hand over Ivriniel's hand.

"Of course I do," she whispered. Ivriniel stooped and kissed her niece's forehead. "I am just worried for them."

"We all are," Ivriniel pulled her close until her head rested against her lap. "We all are."

Ivriniel turned her face towards the window. The curtains were still drawn back. Ivriniel absently rubbed Lothíriel's shoulders. Her sons were out there, fighting in the armada. The storm was fast approaching. She wondered if her sons' were prepared to brave the storm. It looked dark and ferocious from the safety of their room. What was it like on the waters? She didn't dare herself to imagine.

"They are strong." Ivriniel said aloud. "I know you are worried, my dear, but we must be confident in their abilities. I have no doubt that our enemies will have a force to reckon with once they enter Gondor. We are not a nation to admit defeat without a fight."

Lothíriel gave a watery laugh. Ivriniel felt a wave of love for her niece. Lothíriel was strong, and at least tried to strengthen herself when she wasn't. She was clearly close to tears. Ivriniel didn't remark on it, knowing full well she hated when someone noticed her crying. Instead, she gathered her close and gave her as tight a hug as possible. Ivriniel always wanted a daughter. So she treated Lothíriel like one. Knowing her niece, she knew there was no need to give lengthy speeches of courage and honour.

"Have courage, my dear Lothíriel. We are strong." Ivriniel only repeated.

The wind outside howled and screeched. Raindrops splattered against window-glass noisily. Silver lightning shot through the sky, casting the room in bright light. Thunder echoed the room, drowning out the noise of rain.

The storm arrived.

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 **Author's Note:**

This is a bit of a test run, so we will see how it goes. You guys will have to let me know if you enjoy it though. :)


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